Within Four Stone Walls
by JeromeSankara
Summary: There's no light. No outside. No air. There's only the darkness of the walls, the split second of a chance of freedom, only for the door to cruelly close him back in. A shadow of a man is forced to wait and hope that they do not discover his secret. All he knows is that he is not alone. (Mpreg) (Daryl x Rick)
1. Chapter 1

The blood that had covered his body was beginning to cool, plastering to a quivering body. The binds that held him tightly was also splattered the liquid; he could feel the cooling drops against his wrists, ankles, and felt the iron taste in his mouth. The gag tasted more like dirty socks just pulled out of the swamp, and the smell alone made him close to gagging, quite strange especially when he was known to gut twitching deers without so much as a blink.

The black blindfold didn't really have to be there, not as his eyes were screwed tightly shut as if he was chasing away the visions of what he had just witnessed. His tears was making the fabric wet, further clinging to his slick skin. His teeth grinded against the gag, only to receive a smack to the side of the head and the command to stop. He could barely help it, though. They hadn't just had their entire life deflated within a night. They hadn't watched close friends being smashed to pieces. They didn't cause the death of someone who had so much to live for...

They didn't watch Rick fall to pieces before him, commanded and conquered by a man that showed no mercy.

His thoughts were jerked out of place by the movement of the vehicle he was still stuffed away inside, being unprepared to steady himself as his shoulder once again bashed against the blood-coated wall, barely able to let out a grunt of pain any longer. They grunted to each other, arguing to who was the one who was supposed to keep him from rolling around, as they didn't want him to die on the way over.

Already he felt the fresh blood split out of the dried crust of the wound, dripping down his chest and his scarred back. He was already losing too much blood, and every drop made his chest grow tighter and his anxiety rose. How much farther were they going... Or was this all just to make sure no one heard the sound of his death.

He may end up dying in the back of this truck, in constant pain, constant anguish, and constant fear. For the first time in his life since the apocalypse began, Daryl Dixon was at the mercy of someone else.

A piercing pain in his other shoulder took him by surprise, and instinct managed to kick in just for a moment as he blindly tried to shove his body weight towards whoever had pierced him, but hands had already grabbed him and held him steady, and his efforts resorted in nothing more than a whine of pain, of all things.

"Settle down, Negan's gonna take real good care of yah," was the wicked chuckle in his ear, dripping with poison and the knowledge of what lied ahead. Almost right after those words, the hunter felt the world begin to sway about him, and the pain was fading into coldness. Panic rushed into his body to fight against the sensation, but that soon turned into an odd calmness, almost acceptance.

This wasn't how he wanted to die. He needed to see Rick. Maggie. Hell, he just wanted to see home... There was still too much he had to do, and he couldn't die now. He couldn't just lay down and die when he had so much to fight for.

But in the end, that was exactly what he did. His broad shoulders began to sag, pressing against the unforgiving metal along with his side. His head slowly lulled down, and he could feel his greasy hair falling as if to cover his face of the pain that twisted it. For the first time in his life... He didn't want to die...

He didn't want to die...

* * *

Agonizing burning was the next thing he felt, as if his shoulder was being stabbed with white hot iron pokers. The body jolted, and muscles groaned with the sensation of being moved after being cramped together for so long. Cold floor was the only sensation beside the burning, but it did nothing to soothe it.

Daryl hissed in soft pain, even as his heart twisted to give such obvious weakness. His fingers grasped through the darkness as if searching for his own body that was no longer a part of him, only to finally find his own flesh. Only then was he aware of the raw burning tight around his wrists and ankles, but they were no longer bound. The gag was out of his mouth, and there was nothing to cover his eyes.

Two things came through his mind at once. Where was he, and where was Rick.

Not even the blistering pain managed to keep the hunter from scrambling to his feet, almost to nearly collapse as the floor felt as if it had fallen out from under him. The drugs, whatever they had put in him... They were doing a damn good job of making him look like an idiot. His cheek was pressed into the stone and his head rattled with the soft collision and throbbed. Even that little movement made every part of his body scream for surrender.

As he listened to the throbbing of his own blood pulsing through his ears, he realized something.

He couldn't see.

Everything was black, darker than the darkest night with no moon. Darker than the closet he hid himself when Pa got mad. Darker than any parts of his mind allowed him to go. Darker than the horror that managed to sweep into his body.

Immediately his hands swarmed to his face, and he was relieved to find that he had nearly poked out his own eyes with the sudden frantic pace. He still had them... He couldn't feel any scratches, gouges or burns on his face, so he wasn't blinded by any weapon. But he needed to find a light, any light, anything to chase away the darkness.

His body managed to move again, and his head continued to protest harshly, but he was determined to find where he was. He wasn't outside, as there was no sound of wind, birds, nothing. It was too cold, too, as his entire body felt chilled to the touch. His flailing hands finally felt purchase against a flat surface, standing straight up, and he soon approved that it was indeed a wall. Keeping his fingers grazing across the surface as if to not become lost, he began to slowly walk, or as much as he could without his head practically drowning itself in pain and dizziness.

There was one wall. Then another. His fingers were caressing against the third as a cold chill began to curl up his spine. There was an echo, but sharp. There wasn't much room between the first three walls. Dread pooled within him as his outstretched hand came in contact with the final wall, and his entire exploration only took seconds.

He was trapped. There was nothing on the ground, nothing on the walls... There was no light, no sound... His imprisonment was within walls so small he didn't know if he could even lay down within its confines.

The deafness of his discovery made him nearly beg for something to make a noise, but he couldn't bring himself to utter a sound, as if the darkness would swallow him whole if he dared to disturb it.

It was only when the wall seemed to disappear beneath his fingertips on the fourth wall that he allowed some kind of hope. He flocked to the lack of wall, as if it was some kind of passage, only to slam face first into what seemed like... another wall. The hard protrusion he had nearly broken his hip with told him that this was not actually a wall, but a door.

A door. Freedom.

But no hope fluttered in his chest, only the growing sense of doom as his quivering large hands found the round knob and violently pulled, push, turned and yanked, yet he could barely feel the knob even move. It was locked, further confirming that he wouldn't be leaving this place anytime soon.

There he stood at the door, the cold knob still within his trembling hands. He stood cold, wet with what he eventually realized was his own blood from his wound on his shoulder, and trapped. He'd later realize that he was naked, something that took longer than any would think of noticing.

The man stood in that spot for what felt like hours, only to numbly begin to walk against the wall, mumbling and counting steps to the length of each wall. He turned and repeated to the next wall, then the next, and the next... Walking in circles while his mind remained blank. This continued until exhaustion had finally made his legs collapse beneath him, cringing as he hit the ground onto his stomach. Instinctually, his arms pulled tight against his torso, his teeth grimacing. No, he couldn't let anything touch it. Not even the floor. He rolled onto his side, trembling with a wave of emotions that were still swirling throughout his body, yet there was still no words.

Pain, fear, anxiety, worry, dread, rinse and repeat.

Pain, fear, anxiety, worry, dread. Rinse and repeat.

Pain.

His shoulder was on fire.

Fear.

He didn't know where he was or what would happen to him.

Anxiety.

There was no way that this could lead to anything good.

Worry.

Was Rick okay? Was he okay? Was anyone okay?

Dread.

He was alone. He had nothing to protect himself. Nothing to cling to, nothing to give him comfort... Except for...

His arms tightened, his body flinching in realization. No, he wasn't alone. Not yet.

And he would rather die than to be truly alone again.


	2. Chapter 2

Nine steps by four steps. Eleven or twelve steps diagonal. He thinks. Lost track.

His forehead is aching from the times he managed to ram himself against the wall in his nearly silent pacing. The circles help him think, help him gain a grasp on what was happening to him. His shoulder is reduced to a throbbing pulse along with his heartbeat, but no longer bleeds. Unless of course he collapses dead on his feet like the last six times.

Daryl didn't even know why he was walking around so endlessly that he fears he will leave rut in the stone. He had ran his fingers against every slight crack, crevasse, split and knot in the wall. He had already felt down the entire door, top to bottom, for any crack to work his way out, but even the bottom was sealed off, probably having something blocking it on the other side like more stone.

Unsurprisingly, it's cold. There are times that he just sits in the corner and huddles up for warmth. Other times he tries to soak up the heat at the other side of the door.

That's when he would hear the footsteps. The whispers. The grumbles and yells. As if he had any doubt before, he knew that he was surrounded by the Saviors. The very thought made his hair stand on end on the back of his neck, cringing up whenever one stepped past the door. Every now and then someone would pause, stop before his door, before letting out a series of whistles. Like an upbeat tune.

Do do dee doot doot

Do do deeee doot doot

Do do deee doot do do do

Do do do

Dee Dee Dee

Well maybe it wasn't all whistles. There would be hums too. Apparently you didn't have to be able to whistle to be a Savior.

The tune had stirred him awake again from his sleeping corner, opening his eyes to black. Daryl still wasn't sure if he was blind or if it was dark, but he had a feeling he wouldn't find out. Not if they continued to keep him locked in here. In near silence, his stiffened body began to peel itself off of the only warm spot in the room, wincing from the loss. Daryl wasn't one who needed the comforts of a warm bed, but sleeping on stone... Not even on grass or even hay, just stone.

Even sleeping in a tree hadn't been this bad, but he didn't have too much choice. Hiding from Pa and all.

Not much of a choice now, not as his fingers felt across the ground, barely moving up to his hands and knees at this point. It took longer to find it than he thought, making his heart clench up in his throat until he felt the cold liquid.

He had been in too much of a panic the first time to realize that there was a leak in the roof. Or a pipe, not like he could check. It was his source of water in slow drips from the ceiling. Carefully, his calloused hands cupped, attempting to catch the water droplets, but just when he managed to find the drops, it would slip through his fingers.

A growl rumbled in his chest, even if tired and aching. They wanted him to lap it up like a dog... No, he wasn't that desperate yet.

Daryl had grown relatively calmer in the past... however long its been since he first got here. Knowing that there was no escape, he had realized it was no use wasting his energy. Instead, he would use the time to think, to conserve his energy to keep from growing hungrier than normal.

Damn he wished he had one of those granola whatevers from Denise-

...Denise.

A hard lump grew in his throat that he wasn't able to swallow down, even as he licked away the water that remained on his fingers. He could taste his own blood crusting on his nails as well as the dirt, but also the disgusting taste the water held by itself.

Chances are this shit is from a fucking toilet. Would be his luck.

But the taste couldn't distract him from the dread that was filling his empty stomach. Denise... Right when he fucking needed her, she gets an arrow to the head. She promised that she would help, and that she would be there for when he'd have to tell Rick...

Now she was dead. Because why would he be allowed to have nothing in his life. Didn't have Ma, Merle, Beth, Hershel... Glenn... Try as he might, he couldn't swallow down the ache not coming from his shoulder. Loss was always a part of being a Dixon. Didn't deserve nothing good. Was about time that it all came crashing down again.

After a few licks of water, he was already starting to feel the brunt of the cold. The hunter retreated back to his corner, grumbling at the heat that was now gone. Rick was always such a damn furnace... Didn't think he'd ever sleep cold again.

Well fuck it.

But of course right when he began to curl himself up with his back against the stone, here came the footsteps again. His body practically bristled as his arms curled defensively around his stomach, staring to where he guessed the door would be. His hands kneaded into his sides, flexing and ready to move if needed. There was the sound of grating, stone against stone, and it wasn't until there was a pinprick of light that he realized they were unblocking the door.

Someone was coming in.

But while he was prepared for someone to open the door, he wasn't prepared for the practically blinding light that poured its way in.

The arms tucked around his sides immediately covered his eyes as he gave a startled hiss. It was as if his eyeballs were being scorched out of his head, leading to the idle thought that he must have been in the room a lot longer than he had anticipated. His body faintly shuddered on the ground as he tried to adjust to the light, only hearing that the door had been pushed open completely.

"...Shut up and eat."

The voice alone forced any sign of weakness to be pushed back, only to squint against the light. The outline of a man managed to stand out against the light, almost a glow. But his teeth clamped shut, a low growl rumbling as he managed to focus onto the horrid scar that still looked fresh on his shit-eating face, and the sillohuette of his crossbow hoisted over his shoulder. The same one he used to murder Denise in cold blood. The same he had pointed to his head threatening to spill his blood.

Any retort that tried to come out of his mouth was replaced with a rasp that didn't even sound like his own voice, worse than any amount of smokes he had inhaled at once. This obviously seemed to both amuse and frustrate his captor, yet made no motion towards him.

Instead, his still burning eyes managed to catch sight of something being held out to him. It looked like a ball of something. It was wet, and it reeked of rot. Whatever it was, it was soon dropped before him and make a sickening sloppy noise when it hit the ground.

"Eat," the gruff voice spoke again, his shoe nearly prodding the mess that was now on the ground. Of course they would expect him to eat slop... But it seemed like they intended to keep him alive.

His eyes flicked from the unfamiliar mass on the ground to the captor, then down again. This didn't appear to please the man as he gave a groan, only to start to move.

A strong hand grabbed onto his chin that had been resting onto the floor, instead practically yanking his head off his shoulders to look at his ugly mug.

"You should be on your knees groveling for what Negan is doing. If it was up to me, I'd have your brains splattered right fucking now. If I come back and you haven't eaten what Negan provided for you, I will slam that shit down your throat."

His head was thrown back to the ground, smacking against his temple hard enough for his head to ring. The form of his captor split into two and swirled in his eyesight, but he wasn't staying to make sure that the hunter ate the slop. Instead, he was already out the door, cursing under his breath before slamming the door behind him in a noise so loud it made the floor vibrate.

The lock clicked. Then the stone was shoved. It blocked out the only light on the floor, and cloaked him once again in darkness. Now it was only him, a nine by four foot cell, and whatever the fuck that was on the floor. The smell alone made him wish to gag, but that wasn't anything new. Every scent was bothering him. Bout threw up gutting a deer. He was already sick of this.

He stared at the ground where he was sure the 'food' still sat, as if at any moment it would either attack or slither away. The only sound was his own quiet, if not a little ragged, breathing and the drops of water falling into the center of the floor.

His stomach was heaving now and then, and the familiar ache in its pit wasn't moving. He hadn't eaten in a while. However long a while is. And he knew better than to let his own pride get in the way of not eating and not giving his body something to chew on. Had to keep them fed...

Fingers slowly reached forward and prodded into the wet substance. It was a mixture of chunks all slopped together, managing to stick by who knows what. If it was poisoned, he was about to find out. Didn't make much sense to kill him this way, instead of making him starve... Would be more painful, take longer, and they'd think they could make him beg for food.

No, he was already accepting this fate, whatever it was. He just had to hold out, just long enough for someone to find him. Rick had to be looking for him by now. They'd be back.

They wouldn't leave him... unless they blamed him for Glenn. Wouldn't be wrong either, he wouldn't blame them.

His thoughts quietly circled around his fate as he grasped the slop, as much as he could between his slightly trembling fingers, before pushing it into his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. He tried not to taste it, tried to swallow it down as soon as it hit his tongue, but already he knew this would be a struggle...

Not as moments later, he began to gag, and his body decided that this just wouldn't do, instead deciding to splatter it back out. Great.

Now he needed a new sleeping corner.


End file.
